Good Intentions
by tiswillard
Summary: Tom brings Doug over to his mother's, intent on telling her that they're gay. Obviously, slash. Hanhall or TomDoug. Whatever you call it. One-shot.


**A/N: You reviewers make me happy. I don't think I would write without you. Anyway, the idea for this goes to a writing prompt. Mmmhmmm. Hah, and this got pretty intimate. Actually, nothing happened the way it was supposed to, but I suppose when I finished it, it made more sense for the writing prompt. And I'm actually reasonably pleased with this one.**

"Are you absolutely sure that you want to tell your mom about... _us_?" Doug asked, dancing around the front stoop as if he had to pee, badly. Tom had a feeling that he actually did, and couldn't wait for his mom to open the door, so he could tear off to the bathroom.

"Well, everyone else knows," Tom shrugged, keeping his eye glued to the door. "So why shouldn't she know?" Tom looked at Doug for a moment-- somehow, Doug knew he was lying. Tom shook his head. "No. I'm not sure."

"Then why are we telling her?" Doug asked, crossing his arms over his chest. Albeit the north-of-groin stiffness, he seemed to be doing some sort of complex Irish jig or otherwise not-entirely choreographed tap dance. Tom fought the urge to laugh and go find a video camera, just for this moment. Now _this_ was one of those Kodak moments. Only, it wouldn't be freeze framed, now would it?

"Because she needs to know," Tom said. "Besides, she was going to find out eventually."

"Hi Ms. Hanson!" Doug nearly shouted, pushing the lady to the side as he made a mad dash inside of the house, presumably to the bathroom. Tom barely just had noticed that the door had opened. He turned to his mom, who looked rather taken aback at the prospect of being run over by Doug. She had known someone was coming, a "friend", according to Tom-- but Ms. Hanson had immediately assumed that meant she would be seeing a woman with him.

"Tommy!" Ms. Hanson exclaimed, pushing the thought out of her head, engulfing her only son into a hug. Tom tried to hug his mom just as enthusiastically, but his nervous state kept him from being able to.

"Hi Mom," Tom said through gritted teeth, forcing a smile. He tugged at his ear, something that he did when he was really nervous. He silently prayed that his mom hadn't noticed, something that she usually had a knack for doing. "Sorry about him, uh, he really had to go to the bathroom, I guess."

"Yeah, I noticed," Ms. Hanson smiled-- Tom was glad that she apparently had not yet noticed his overall nervous appearance. He was able to relax, even if it was just a little. "Uhm, come in Tommy! It's been too long."

"Mom, it's been a week--"

"Exactly!" Ms. Hanson replied, prodding her son over the threshold and into her home. Tom obliged, though he was silently hoping that something bad wouldn't happen soon-- although, he had no idea what he was so afraid of. Telling his mom that he was gay? That was the point of bringing Doug along. "A week is far too long to go without seeing your son, Thomas."

_Oh, I wish that weren't the case. Then again, I would know. I don't seem to have 'having a son' on the agenda, _Tom couldn't help thinking desperately to himself. Now faced with the fact that he was about to tell his mom about him and Doug, he wished he never would have to see his mom after this day. That would go over perfectly fine for him.

"So, anything new?" Ms. Hanson said, although Tom had somehow managed to block it out, not wanting to communicate with his mother at the moment. "Tom?"

"What?" Tom asked, looking at his mother. He'd automatically disregarded her question, mind on other matters. Such as what he was planning to tell his mother within the next however long he would be here.

"Anything new?" His mother repeated. "Work, _love life_?"

Tom coughed unnecessarily at his mother's last remark. "No, work's fine. Nothing interesting happening, at least," Tom said, carefully avoiding explaining his love life. Although, if he would have actually contemplated the idea a little more, then would have been a perfect time to explain everything. "What about you, Mom?"

Ms. Hanson totally disregarded the fact that her son had ignored the last part of her question. Tom silently wondered if his mom was coming down with Alzheimers at an insanely young age. His mom was not the sort of person who would let that sort of thing slide by so easily. "Just as good as normal, I suppose. Come into the kitchen and help me set the table, Thomas."

"Actually, I'm going to go find Doug. He's taking an... awfully... long... time... in the bathroom, you know," Tom said, escaping from the invisible clutches of his mother by dashing down the hallway. Truth was, it hadn't been 'awfully long' at all. It had been just normal, actually. Although, Tom was not entirely aware of that. The awkwardness in his mother's and his last conversation (that, excuse me, was only evident in his mind) had made the last two minutes seem far longer than they actually were.

He caught Doug just as he was exiting the bathroom, grabbing him by the waist and (accidentally) violently pushing him back in the bathroom. Tom slammed the door behind him, and Doug tripped over the edge of the bathtub, actually falling into the linoleum tub. He looked up disapprovingly at Tom, who barely even noticed the diabolical glint in his boyfriend's eye.

"I can't tell her," Tom breathed, offering a hand to help Doug get out of the tub. Doug took it gladly, lifting himself out. Unfortunately, Doug tripped over a pale brown rug Ms. hanson had placed in the bathroom. Doug grabbed onto Tom's biceps, pushing him against the door as he tried to balance himself. "Ican'ttellherIcan'ttellherIcan'ttellher..."

"Slow down, Tom," Doug said, taking sympathy on his boyfriend, embracing his slender figure-- although, it wasn't all that necessary. He was pushed up against this door, dangerously close to him. "Why the sudden change of heart, first of all?"

"I don't know," Tom said, sighing. "Just looking at her, I guess. What if she doesn't accept it? I mean, Doug, you can't exactly sympathize... you've got no one to tell. But me, Doug--"

"Tom," Doug said, looking down at him. "Just shut up," he insisted, placing his hand over Tom's mouth. He watched Tom's eyes, wide and half-scared staring up at him. Doug took his hand off of Tom's mouth, tracing his jawline. "You really don't wanna tell her, do ya?"

"No," Tom admitted, pressing his face into the crook of Doug's neck. "I don't want her to disapprove of me. I don't want her to disown me or something."

"Tom, she's not going to disown you because of your sexual preferences," Doug reassured Tom, playing with his hair. "You don't have to tell her, you know, today. If you don't want to. But eventually you're going to have to."

"She's going to disown me!" Tom wailed, trying to snuggle deeper into the crook of Doug's neck.

"Look at me," Doug ordered, trying to pull Tom's waist away from him. Tom refused to move. "Tom," he said, more sincerely. Tom seemed to mark the warning tone in his voice. Doug smiled down on the other male, running his hands through his hair. His right hand delicately lifted Tom's chin, and Doug leaned forward. He let his lips brush Tom's as he whispered in his ear, "She's _not_ going to disown you, you moron."

Tom blushed, kissing directly below Doug's ear. He pulled away, just so they could comfortably look at each other. Doug had returned to playing with Tom's hair.

"Did I convince you your mom's not gonna disown you yet, Tommy?" Doug smiled.

"Inexplicably; yes," Tom said, reaching upward to wrap his right arm around the back of Doug's neck. "Yes, you did."

"That was remarkably easy," Doug remarked, lightly touching his lips to Tom's again.

"I hate you," Tom whispered.

"I doubt it," Doug said with a lightly amused tone, pulling away to leave a mere centimeter between their mouths. "But while you're so bent on hating me, tell me why."

"Because you make me love you," Tom replied lightly, pulling at a strand of Doug's hair, "when you do these kinds of things to me."

"What kinds of things am I doing, exactly?" Doug asked, pushing himself and Tom closer into the bathroom door. Tom smirked a little, allowing Doug to corner him.

"You like to corner me and take complete advantage of me when I might be in a slightly vulnerable state," Tom said, closing his eyes. "I'm not going to lie, though. You're entirely too good at it, and I'm kind of liking it."

"Well at least you like it," Doug whispered, slipping his hands into the back pockets of Tom's jeans. Tom almost giggled. "If you didn't, well, that would be a whole other story."

"Yes it would, Dougie," Tom half-gasped, no longer able to resist the urge to press his lips against Doug's. Doug laughed into the kiss, Tom wrapping his free arm around him in a blinded attempt to bring their bodies closer (once again). Doug's hands came out of Tom's back pockets, getting caught in his shirt. Fortunately, he knew better than to take Tom's shirt off-- in Ms. Hanson's house, that was. Instead, he distractedly tried to get his hands up towards Tom's head, where he could knot both of his hands in Tom's hair.

His right hand had made it to Tom's hair, his other hand gripping onto Tom's shoulder. Unfortunately, all of this had happened at an ironically horrible time, so they realized as there was a knock at the door. Doug and Tom both immediately froze in place, intertwined with the other, tongue's in each other's mouths. Oh joy. Tom was panting out of nervousness, but trying to refrain from making any loud noise as his mother knocked on the door.

"Doug? Are you in there?" Ms. Hanson asked, Tom thinking fast and reaching to lock the door. Doug stared at him, unsure of what to do. Tom grabbed Doug by the shoulders, and took him to the farthest corner of the bathroom.

"Answer now," Tom whispered urgently. "But I'm not here. I came and knocked on the door but I left. You know, around the house."

"Doug?" Ms. Hanson continued, now playing with the door handle. It was only a miracle that Tom was her son, thus knowing to lock the door.

"I-I," Doug began. Tom hit him on the shoulder. "I'm in here!"

"Oh--" Ms. Hanson replied, clearing her throat. Tom knew better than to think his mom was embarrassed from nearly just having burst into the bathroom, where she believed Doug to be alone. However, she might be embarrassed and forever scarred for life if she had gotten into the bathroom, and discovered what Tom and Doug had been doing just moments before. Tom silently congratulated himself for thinking ahead of time. "Do you have any idea where Tom is?"

"Um, he was here a minute ago," Doug said, eyes flicking to the floor for a moment. "I mean, he was here... as in... he knocked on the door. To check on me. But he left. You know, no longer outside of the bathroom. I don't know where he is now."

"Oh, well, um, thank you," Ms. Hanson said. Tom waited for a moment, to be sure that his mother was no longer outside of the door.

"Douglas, could you have made it any more blatantly obvious that I'm here, in this bathroom, making out with you?" Tom asked, trying to seem angry although part of him was very amused. "Which, by the way, had she known, and if she finds out, will result in a nightmare. And she will never speak to me ever again."

"You're paranoid, _Thomas_," Doug replied, making his way towards the door. "And I wouldn't use the word blatant."

"Whatever, Doug," Tom said, walking out of the bathroom before him. Doug must have thought to wait for a moment, as Tom wandered into the kitchen, sitting down at the table which his mother had apparently already taken the liberty to set without him.

"There you are, Tom!" Ms. Hanson said, approaching the table. She placed a bowl of something (by the smell of it, mashed potatoes) down on the table, and sat across from him. "Where were you?" Tom couldn't help but notice the fact his mother had so graciously left out the fact that, in order to find him, she had almost busted down the bathroom door to find information of his whereabouts from Doug.

"I was in the bathroom," Tom said. Not a lie at all-- he suppressed a laugh as his mother stared at him in bewilderment. "Upstairs, Mom."

"Oh," she replied, looking rather relieved. "I didn't think to look up there. I hadn't hear you go upstairs."

Doug entered the room quietly, automatically taking the seat next to Tom. Ms. Hanson offered him a small smile. Tom couldn't actually bring himself to look at Doug. Doug, on the other hand, knew it had nothing to do with what had just happened in the bathroom (other than Tom's confrontation that his initial decision to tell his mother he was gay had gone bye-bye), placed his hand on Tom's thigh earnestly for a moment. Tom's head snapped towards Doug. Doug smirked at Tom's beat-red face, although catching onto the fact that this stare was not an 'Oh, I love you' glance. Much rather, it was an 'I'll kill you if you do that again' glance. Oh, but Doug couldn't help but consider the idea that there might have been some 'Oh, but you can do that later' in there.

"So, Tom, Doug," Ms. Hanson said, reaching for the bowl of mashed potatoes as she sat in her chair. "How's work going? Anything interesting?" Her hand paused as she spooned out a second spoonful of mashed potatoes. Tom wondered why she had decided to return to this topic, but didn't care all that much. "By the way, dig in." Doug hadn't needed a second reminder, seeing as he had dug in the moment Ms. Hanson's hand had reached in for a the mashed potatoes. Tom, on the other hand, was still contemplating the idea that it may not be safe for him to eat. He might throw up on his mother, seeing how nervous he was.

"Work's fine, Ms. Hanson," Doug said, taking action and speaking for Tom, who had just then started looking around at what had been placed on the table. "Tom and I are--" '_Currently living under the same roof, sleeping in the same bed every night, oh and we share a certain celebratory make-out session when we feel something is in need for one. Hell, it doesn't need to be celebratory and it doesn't need to just stop at making out, Ms. Hanson! Would you care for me to reminisce, right here at your dinner table?' _"--currently working on a pretty interesting case, right Tom?"

Tom grunted, reaching forward to pick up a bowl of corn. Part of him couldn't believe he had actually confronted the possibility that Doug had actually been considering saying that. Obviously he wasn't-- right? Tom was just being paranoid. Very, _very _paranoid at that. He might need a therapist after tonight, actually. He'd have Doug help him look through the phonebook for a good one.

"Really?" Ms. Hanson asked, her eyes, unbeknownst to Tom, strictly on her son's hand, which almost looked as if it were trembling. He seemed to have given up on spooning out the corn. "What would the case be about?"

"We were tipped off that there was a student teacher over at Redmont who was dealing drugs to students," _'But speaking of students and teachers, Ms. Hanson, your son and I have recently indulged ourselves in an endless game of 'student and teacher'. We too venture in the Health department, but our specialties are more sex ed. than they are drugs.' _"We're using the McQuaids for this one, aren't we, Tommy?"

"Heh," Tom replied weakly, although he hadn't even caught onto the McQuaid part of what Doug had just said. Suddenly, he remembered the bowl of corn in his hand, and he hurriedly spooned some onto his plate. _Stop it,_ he mentally scolded himself. _If you keep thinking this shit, something's going to be said. And Mom's gonna find out. And then, Mr. Tommy Perfect Son Hanson will be disowned._

"The McQuaids?" Ms. Hanson asked Doug, pointing out some pork chops to Tom. Tom shook his head, not sure if he even had the appetite for his half spoonful of corn anymore. "Who are they?"

"Tom hasn't told you about them?" Doug asked with a raised eyebrow. "Oh, well, they're one of our, uh, undercover disguises, y'know? They're brothers--" _'with benefits. Did you hear the story where we got caught making out in a bathroom, as the McQuaid brothers? That'll be a story to tell our grandchildren, right Tommy? Oh, wait! I forgot! We won't be having any!' _"--well, obviously. I'm not sure how anyone ever fell for that lie about us being brothers--" _'because we so obviously have the hot's for each other.' _"--but most people have. Anyway, Tommy and I love--" _'each other.' _"'em, don't we Tommy?"

Now, Tom knew he hadn't heard Doug say that they loved each other, but he had thought he heard it. Thank God that his hand hadn't been clasped on his fork, for his arm automatically went under the table, prepared to hit Doug's thigh. Unfortunately, there was a sudden mistake of where his hand and where Doug's thigh was, and Tom's fist made a very unlikely and painful trip into Doug's crotch.

"Doug, are you okay?" Ms. Hanson asked as Doug had grunted for a moment and then opened his mouth, ready to say something to Tom. Luckily, his throat had caught.

"Owwww-- I just remembered that it's my cousin's birthday. And, uh, she lives in New York-- do you mind if I give her a call now? The time difference-- I don't want to miss her," Doug lied, somehow molding 'oww' and 'I' into the same word.

"Oh, yeah!" Ms. Hanson smiled. "Go ahead!"

"Hey, Tom, where's the phone?" Doug asked.

"There's one to the--" Tom began.

"How about you just show me?" Doug suggested, grabbing Tom's wrist and dragging him out of the room. As soon as they were out of earshot of the kitchen, he immediately began interrogating Tom. "What was _that_ for?" Tom uncomfortably looked out the nearest window, trying to memorize the patterns of the colours on the houses. _White, brown... is that a blue? White, white, beige, that's kind of a creamy-pink color, I guess, fire-brick red, that weird blue colour again, white, brown-- _"Tom?"

"Huh?" Tom asked, looking at Doug. Of course, Tom knew what Doug was talking about. He couldn't just play the oblivious card here. Doug's glare made sure of that. "I just-- I don't know. I keep hearing, well, not hearing... it's hard to explain--"

"Tommy, if you're really sinking that low, I think you should just tell her." Back to the window. _White, brown, blue, white, white-- if I told my mom, she'd disown me-- beige, creamy-pink, fire-brick red-- didn't I already tell Doug all of that?-- blue, white, brown, beige, I don't even know what to call the colour-- Doug, I'm not even going to consider it. _"Tom, stop ignoring me."

"I can't tell her," Tom whined. There was that look again. This time, Tom whinced. _White, brown, blue, white, white, beige-- stop it._ "Fine. I'll try." Doug glared again. _Where'd I leave off? Right. Beige, creamy-pink, fire-brick red-- you know, that really stands out. Random brick house in the middle of the street, surrounded by a buncha... normal ones. Who built that house, anyway? Oh, right. Doug. Wait, no. He didn't build those houses. That house. The brick one. That's not what I meant. _"I'll do it."

"You'll do it?" Doug asked, an eyebrow raised. Tom nodded, his mind automatically listing out the colours of the houses now. He didn't even need to look out of the window. _White, brown, blue-- seriously, Thomas. Get a hold of yourself. Tell him you promise._

"I promise." He sounded much more sure of the words than he actually felt. "I'll tell her."

"Good boy," Doug asked, pausing as he heard the scrape of a chair as Ms. Hanson was coming to check on them. Doug looked at him, Tom immediately knowing what he meant. He pointed towards a low table with a phone placed on a cradle. Doug immediately snatched it up, talking a little bit too loud. "Yeah, sorry I--" _White _"--didn't call soon--" _Brown_ "--er, it just kind of slipped my mind, you know?" _BLUE _"Yeah, well, sorry for the inconvenient late-night call. Yeah, I know it's not _that--_" _WHITE (DOUG, BE QUIET. IT'LL SEEM SUSPICIOUS)_ "--late in New York." _WHITE_ "Whatever, Marissa. You're a strange--" _BEIGE_ "one, you know that? But happy thir--" _CREAMY-PINK. THAT KIND OF SOUNDS DIRTY. _"--teenth birthday, you dork. But I gotta--" _FIRE-BRICK RED, STUPID BRICK HOUSE THAT DOUG DIDN'T BUILD. _"go. Maybe I'll call you tomorrow or something? Alright. Bye." _BLUE-- oh, hi Mom!_

Ms. Hanson stood in the doorway, obviously wondering why Tom was standing so intently next to Doug, staring out the window. He was rocking on his heels, and seemed to be rather deep in thought. He had shown Doug where the phone was, why hadn't he just come back into the kitchen? "Tom?" she asked, watching as her son seemed to almost snap out of a trance, turning around.

"Sorry that took so long, Ms. Hanson," Doug said before Tom had even opened his mouth, hanging up the phone. "Tom wanted to talk to her too."

"Tom knows your cousin from New York?" Ms. Hanson asked, quizically. _I know your cousin Marissa, who lives in New York, who turned thirteen today?_

"Yeah. Tom actually knows a lot--" _'of people and, uh, things he probably shouldn't know. He has a very closely developed relationship with my groin.' _"--of my family, actually," Doug lied. Tom didn't know any of Doug's family. Doug really didn't have any family left, actually. None worth mentioning, at least.

_Stop that, Tom. Just stop it._

Somehow he did. They moved back into the kitchen, dinner slowly inching on. Tom spoke very little, but found he stopped imagining Doug saying things about what they did in their "spare time". Actually, he spent the whole dinner listening very intently, trying to find an opening to let his mom know that he was, in fact, gay. With both it's pros and cons, no such opportunity showed itself, and eventually Tom found himself climbing into the driver's seat of his Mustang. Doug's mouth was opened, like he was prepared to say something. Tom knew better than to let him speak.

"I know you're about to berate the fuck out of me because I didn't tell her, but I _tried_, Doug. I _tried_."

"Well, actually, I was going to say that you're mom is kind of cool and I was going to ask you why I hadn't noticed this before. But, you're right, the fact that you neglected to mention that you were gay to your mother could be a pretty interesting conversation piece, too."

Oh. _White, brown, blue, white, white..._


End file.
